


tinker, tailor, soldier, spy

by ORiley42



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Benthan Week Day 7, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M, New Year's Kiss, Tailor AU, benji is the IMF's tailor and ethan is a nervous disaster, shy!Ethan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 06:24:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20304901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ORiley42/pseuds/ORiley42
Summary: Benji is the IMF's specialized tailor, and he's never met a clothing emergency he couldn't deal with. This Ethan Hunt character, however, is another story...





	tinker, tailor, soldier, spy

**Author's Note:**

> akhfskjghksdjfg I wrote 99% of this in the last, like, eight hours, so forgive me if it’s a bit of a mess! Fake Dating may be my all-time favorite trope, so I had to give it a whirl for Benthan Week <3

“Lose my measurements again?” Luther asked lightly, holding out his arm for Benji to run the measuring tape from shoulder to wrist.

“You know me,” Benji agreed with a wink. Benji ‘lost’ folks’ measurements rather frequently, often after Christmastime or a particularly bad breakup. Whenever an agent started worshipping at the temple of Ben & Jerry’s, Benji’s organizational system took a merciful hit. Luther was an old customer and something approaching a friend—Benji had tailored Luther through two marriages and more missions that you could shake a stick at, and they had their system down to an art.

Benji liked this current project, the simple, familiar rhythm of an ordinary dinner jacket (to be done in a slightly metallic pinstripe because Luther was feeling adventurous and perhaps a little conscious of his age). It made for a pleasant diversion from some of the wilder requests sent down the pipeline.

Did you need a special pocket sewn into your diving suit that can safely transport a hard drive filled with essential intel, that will be completely waterproof, withstand pressure up to 5 atmospheres, and also deflect potential bullets? Benji had you covered.

Terrorists in the arctic? Benji just had some lovely synthetic fur in, and he’d have a proper parka with all the necessary hidey-holes for guns and phones and what-have-you installed by tomorrow.

No one had yet had to go undercover at a Renaissance Faire, which was Benji’s one great dream.

Everyone told Benji things they probably shouldn’t during fittings. There was something about a stranger holding a measuring tape up against your intimate bits that made people want to blurt out something, anything to distract them. In all likelihood, Benji knew more about IMF operations than its entire board of directors.

“Ethan,” Luther rumbled in greeting, something Benji couldn’t parse in his tone. Benji looked up and found Ethan lounging near the doorway, body language open but face startled. “Funny seeing you here.”

“I could say the same,” Ethan replied, “thought you were still in Vienna.”

“Evidently not.” Luther seemed to be fighting a smile. “You come here to spruce up your formal wear, too? Got a hot date?” Luther asked, and yeah, that was definitely amusement in his voice. Benji shook his head. He’d long ago given up feeling left out or embarrassed by other people’s inside jokes.

“Nope,” Ethan said stiffly, “Just…stopping by.”

“How friendly,” Luther noted as Benji slid the jacket off his shoulders. “I guess you wouldn’t want our favorite tailor to get lonely.”

“I’m your only tailor,” Benji pointed out.

“But still my favorite…and _definitely_ Ethan’s.” He was smirking now, and Ethan looked like he was considering homicide. Benji wished they’d take whatever this was between them elsewhere.

“I’ll walk you out,” Ethan announced, and threw a not-so-companionable arm around Luther’s shoulders.

Benji heard Luther start to say, “So, you finally grow a pair and decide to actually ask—”

They then seemed to engage in some sort of minor rough-housing, which Benji ignored. Working for the IMF meant Benji was constantly ignoring testosterone-fueled nonsense of one kind of another, though usually from a more comfortable distance.

When he turned around, ready to tell the two to knock it off or he’d start spritzing them with stain remover until they behaved like adults, he found Luther being kicked summarily out of the room and Ethan spinning back towards Benji with a plastic smile.

“So.” Ethan’s hands fell back to his sides. “How’re things?”

Benji stared at him, baffled. “Fine.”

Benji liked Ethan well enough, he did. When they’d first met, he thought they might be friends, but since then…well, he’d been a bit of a cold fish. Tended not to talk much. He laughed at Benji’s jokes, but usually a half-second too late, which discouraged Benji from telling them in the first place. Benji caught Ethan looking at him when his back was turned sometimes, and it made him feel like he was being scrutinized for some sort of wrongdoing.

Benji’s usual method of dealing with him was to maximize his quiet professionalism and send him out the door as quick as could be. Ethan always seemed to come back, though, with a ripped seam or a new addition he’d forgotten to mention the first time round. It irritated Benji, on occasion, because he did have better things to do than to cater to a single, particularly disaster-prone agent. One incident in which Ethan had managed to “accidentally” shred a gorgeously crafted leather jacket (treated with special chemicals and complete with anti-radiation lining, handmade by Benji for some sort of nuclear-related misadventure he hadn’t wanted to know the details about) and then returned with it to the workshop and lingered around Benji the entire time he’d mended it, still rankled.

“I heard some measurements went missing again,” Ethan noted, which was probably the last thing he should have said when Benji had just been reliving All The Reasons Ethan Hunt Vaguely Annoys Me On A Semi-Regular Basis.

“Yes, it happens,” Benji said, clipped. What was a friendly understanding with Luther felt like an accusation with Ethan, though his tone was nothing but sympathetic.

“Thought I’d check and see if mine had wandered off too.”

“Nope,” Benji assured him, patting the antique filing desk where he kept all his (actually meticulous) notes, “safe and sound.”

“Could you check?” Ethan asked, cool and polite. Benji wanted to stick him with a pin, just a little bit.

Benji wordlessly pulled open the “H” drawer, reaching in and expecting to pull out the card with a flourish and send this unwelcome visitor packing.

The card was gone. Benji definitely hadn’t accidentally-on-purpose recycled Ethan’s measurements, and he wasn’t a genuine scatterbrain.

“They’re…gone,” he said, dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how…”

“It’s no problem,” Ethan assured him, and Benji rankled at how eager Ethan was to tell him it was all fine, when it wasn’t fine. It _usually_ was fine, but he’d caught him the one time it wasn’t and it was _extremely_ irritating. “We could just do it now, unless you’re busy…?”

“No, no,” Benji shoved aside thoughts of the highly precise adjustments he needed to make to Agent Carter’s masquerade ballgown for an upcoming undercover gala event, “I’ve got time. Up on the stool, you know the drill.”

He shooed Ethan onto the small but sturdy wooden stool, retrieving the cloth measuring tape he’d just set aside after Luther’s departure.

He knelt at Ethan’s feet, shaking out his pants leg to find the hem and start the tape there. He always started with the ankle, then the inseam. Begin with something benign to put them at ease, then quickly get through the most uncomfortable one before they can tense up again, it worked like a charm. Usually, anyway—Ethan seemed tense no matter where Benji held the tape, no matter how light and efficient and impersonal he kept his touches. 

“So…” Ethan said, apparently trying to strike up unnecessary conversation, and Benji did everything in his power not to groan out loud. Couldn’t we just suffer through this in silence? “There’s something, um, I was hoping to ask you.”

“I’m a captive audience,” Benji droned, “Ask away.”

“Right.” Ethan fidgeted, and Benji grabbed his hip to still him. He went very still indeed, and also silent.

Benji sighed. “You had a question for me? I hope it’s: ‘do you have forty yards of lavender taffeta to spare for a series of emergency corsets?’ because there was a very serious mix-up between my fabric supplier and myself.”

Ethan smiled, soft as silk. He took a breath, and started to say, “I was wondering if you’d want to—”

A voice sounded in the hall.

Ethan flinched. “Uh oh.”

Benji raised an eyebrow when Ethan looked like he was considering leaping off the stool and hiding behind a mannequin.

“That sounds like Liz,” Ethan said, like that explained anything.

“Yes,” Benji agreed, “from accounting.”

“Yeah. She, uh…” Ethan ran a hand over his chin. It was a little surreal, but Benji was pretty sure the man was embarrassed. “She asked me out, last week.”

“Okay,” Benji said, prodding Ethan on with a look.

“I turned her down. Said I was busy.”

“But…” Benji thought he saw where this was going.

“But I’m just not interested.”

“Hmm.”

“And I don’t know how to get rid of her without hurting her feelings,” Ethan admitted.

Benji wanted to say, ‘if half the stories I’ve heard about you are true, you could skydive over a volcano without breaking a sweat, so why the hell can’t you grow a spine and just tell this woman the truth?’ But Benji did not say that, because he was _polite_.

“Well, you can pop in the back with the fabric samples, if you like,” Benji suggested, but by the time the words were out of his mouth, it was too late for hiding.

“Hi!” Liz said as she waltzed into the workshop, eyes only for Ethan. Benji might as well have been a tall, mobile bit of furniture.

“Hi,” Ethan said, reluctant. Benji rolled his eyes internally and turned towards Luther’s half-constructed jacket, adjusting folds. Might as well leave them to it.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Liz simpered up at Ethan, who looked like he really would prefer to dive into a volcano right then. “I know you had other plans before, but I also know that you never miss the office New Year’s Party…” She smiled and twirled a long strand of blonde hair around her finger.

“Right. New Year’s.” The sound of shifting feet.

Benji didn’t _want_ to listen in on this private conversation, but considering they’d decided to have their private conversation smack in the middle of his workspace, he didn’t have much of a choice.

“I actually…already have a date,” Ethan finally said, equal parts regretful and relieved.

“Oh. Really.” Liz sounded disbelieving, and Benji kind of wanted to take a peek to see what her expression was like—this was some top-tier gossip, he should get it right for when he inevitably repeated it over weekly drinks with Sandra and Henry from IT. “Who, then?”

“Benji.”

“Pardon?” Benji glanced over his shoulder, a pair of pins between his teeth.

“I was just telling Liz, here,” Ethan pointed to Liz, as if Benji might not have noticed her, “that we’re going to the New Year’s Party. Together. You and me.”

The pins hit the floor as Benji gaped at Ethan. Was he having an aneurism? Because it sounded an awful lot like Ethan had just asked him out. In a manner of speaking, anyway. 

Ethan looked at him with big, vulnerable puppy dog eyes. Benji was floored. He was the _purveyor_ of office drama, not the subject. And yet…

“Yes,” he found himself saying. “Yes, er, that’s right.”

Liz finally deigned to acknowledge Benji’s existence. “Well, that’s unexpected,” she decreed, and Benji was vaguely offended. Sure, Ethan was objectively handsome. By conventional standards, anyway. Benji may have described him as ‘an absolute dish,’ if he was a bit sloshed. But that didn’t mean he was out of Benji’s league! If anything, Ethan could do to share some of Benji’s better qualities, such as respect for expensive and painstakingly bespoke clothing (alright, Benji was still a little touchy about that time with the jacket).

Or, worse still, was it just the fact that Benji was a _guy_ that gave her pause?

Now Benji was conflicted as to whether he should be offended merely on his own behalf or on both his and Ethan’s and all of queer-kind’s.

Liz threw Benji a curveball by adding a third option, in the form of a vaguely snotty: “I thought you and Terry were an item.”

“Terry?” Benji blinked. He knew two Terry’s, one was a woman who worked in maintenance and was nice and also very married, the other was a man who did something involving the agency’s cars and had a mullet.

Benji decided he hoped Liz thought he was an accomplice to adultery rather than to mullet-ry.

“Did the mullet put you off?” Liz said, faux-sympathetic.

Dammit. Benji pulled his shoulders up and injected as much confidence into his tone as he could. “Terry-with-the-questionable-hair-choices and I have spoken on maybe two occasions. An item, we are certainly not. Did you get that little tidbit from Alicia, on the sixth floor?”

Liz nodded, eyes widening.

“Yeah, thought so. She’s a sweet girl, but her gossip tends to be second rate. I’d recommend hitting up Brad on the fourth floor—he’s next to the water cooler that always has the lemon slices—for the top shelf stuff.”

Liz gave him a thoughtful, and more importantly, respectful nod. “Good tip. Well,” she clapped her hands and said briskly, “I guess I’ll be seeing you both at the New Years’ Party then.” It was Ethan’s turn to be ignored as she left, one appraising eye on Benji until she swept through the open door.

Ethan exhaled and leaned on a nearby roll of navy wool. “That was close.”

Benji didn’t reply. He was still in a state of mild shock.

“Seriously, thank you for playing along.”

“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” Benji snapped.

Ethan deflated, distressed lines creasing his brow. “Sorry. You’re right, I shouldn’t have—”

“No, I’m sorry, that was harsh,” Benji pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, “I’m just, you know, a little rattled.”

“I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Benji chanced a look at Ethan, who seemed genuinely regretful.

“It’s fine,” Benji tried to brush it off, but he still didn’t have his footing, “just…don’t do it again.”

“Right.” The pinched look on Ethan’s face worsened. “So…I guess I won’t be seeing you at the party.”

“Oh, I always go,” Benji said blithely, “Free booze and canapes, what more can you ask for?” Benji made to turn away, then swung back around, hand in the air. “Wait. When you said…did you mean as your date? Did you _actually_ want me to go with you?”

“No! Yes!” Ethan said both answers loudly and in quick succession. Benji once again returned to the someone’s-having-an-aneurysm hypothesis. “I mean, whatever you want. Is, uh, fine. It’s fine.” Ethan shuffled his feet, fingers tapping at his sides. “You seem to know better than anyone how gossip travels around here. So, I thought maybe, we could go together just to…I don’t know. Let the heat die down.”

“The heat,” Benji repeated, quizzical.

“Unless you already had a date,” Ethan backtracked, “Terry, maybe…”

“Oh, Christ,” Benji shuddered, “Terry’s probably a perfectly nice bloke, but I hardly know him and I don’t exactly chase after men whose hair’s a fugitive from three decades past.”

Ethan seemed oddly hopeful at that. “So…maybe I’ll see you there?”

“Yeah,” Benji shrugged, “You can buy me a drink.”

“It’s an open bar.”

“Exactly.”

Ethan took a confused step back. “Uh…ok.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, but after another second of dithering, he just took off without another word.

“Nice chat,” Benji said into the empty silence, “Always a pleasure to be confounded by you, Agent Hunt.” He shook his head, and realized they’d never finished with Ethan’s measurements.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time the party arrived, Benji had nearly forgotten about the incident. He’d certainly experienced stranger things within the IMF’s walls. (The story about the rabbit fur, the harpoon, and the three monks was particularly exciting when told with the right wine). But as he came into the crowded room, the first person to waylay him on his progress to the free wine was Luther.

“I heard he finally did it,” Luther said, clapping Benji on the shoulder.

“Excuse me?”

“Listen, he’s one of the bravest men I know, but also an idiot of the highest caliber,” Luther said seriously, as if conveying very important information, “So, you know, try and be nice to him if you can. He really likes you, and I’m sick to death of hearing about it.”

“Luther, I have no idea—”

“Sorry, gotta go,” Luther shoved past Benji, eyes locked on a passing velvet sweater-set, “Just spotted that old rattlesnake, Lydia. She still owes me fifty bucks from last New Years, when she bet I couldn’t do that kegstand…”

Benji watched him go, open-mouthed, and still hadn’t figured out what had transpired by the time Ethan materialized at his side.

“Hi,” Ethan greeted him with a bright smile.

“Uh, hi,” Benji turned to him, then gestured over his shoulder, “I just had the most baffling conversation with Luther.”

Ethan shifted his weight nervously. “Most conversations with him are baffling, right?”

“No,” Benji shook his head, “not really.”

“Erm.”

Ethan and Benji just stared at each other for a moment, the discomfort mounting exponentially.

“I’m not good at small talk,” Ethan finally said.

“Don’t they train you in that sort of thing?” Benji said, half-joking.

“They teach us how to talk to marks. Draw them in, entertain them, seduce them…” Ethan trailed off, dark eyes boring into Benji’s, and for just a moment Benji could see how easily he could be drawn in and seduced. “But that’s the job,” Ethan glanced down at his shoes and the moment was over, “Real life, personal stuff…that’s different.”

“I suppose so,” Benji conceded. “And I guess it’s a good thing that you don’t see me as a mark.”

“Yeah,” Ethan agreed. He looked pained. Benji wondered if a good bourbon could make this situation less hideously awkward and gazed longingly at the bar.

“Oh, look,” he commented, spotting a familiar head of blonde hair, “Liz seems to have come out on top.” She apparently didn’t care to wait till midnight to kiss her date, arms wrapped around the neck of a redhead with a wrestler’s build.

“Oh, wow,” Ethan looked lightly scandalized when he spotted the couple, which was kind of precious. “I continue to be grateful that you are my date instead. Er,” he flushed when Benji looked askance at him. “My pretend date. Shield date?”

“I guess we didn’t ever quite settle that question, did we,” Benji realized, slowly sensing some pieces fall into place.

“No,” Ethan agreed, glancing guiltily around at everything but Benji. “And it’s okay if you want to tell me to buzz off, I get it. But I hope we could still be friends.”

Benji hesitated, then gave Ethan’s arm a bracing pat. It seemed the thing to do. “Of course, we can be friends. We’re friendly, aren’t we? It’s just…” he trailed off, realizing this might not be the time.

“What? Please, if I did something, tell me.”

Ethan looked so vulnerable and earnest, it made Benji want to wrap him up in fleece and stow him somewhere safe.

“Alright,” Benji gave in, “It’s just that…you keep destroying the clothes I make you. And when you bring them back in pieces, you always stare me down like you think I’m going to mess it up again. Or like I didn’t do it right in the first place, and that does rather tarnish my professional pride.”

“What? That’s not…” Ethan looked positively horrified. “I would never think that! Everything you’ve ever made for me has been flawless. You have an incredible talent.”

“Oh,” Benji wriggled his shoulders, pleased. “Well, then. That’s good.” His smile collapsed into a frown. “Then you could stand to take a bit more care of the fruit of my sweat, tears, and metaphorical blood.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ethan looked a bit pale, like he might faint or run away, neither of which option boded well for Benji. “I didn’t think about it like that. I just knew that whenever I wrecked my clothes, it’d be an excuse to see you so…I sometimes…just…let it happen. Er. Made it happen.”

“You. What.” Benji knew what Ethan was saying, but also, he _must_ be wrong about what Ethan was saying. It couldn’t be true. “You’ve been destroying the clothes I make for you…on purpose.”

Ethan winced.

“Not…” Benji could hardly speak, “Not the _leather jacket_…”

“I might have…shoved it in a food processor,” Ethan admitted in a rush.

“No!” Benji gasped. He was shocked. He was incensed! He utterly flummoxed.

“I just wanted a reason to talk to you!” Ethan tried to explain, stumbling over his words, “You’re always so busy with work, I felt like I’d be bothering you if I just dropped by for no reason.”

“So, you thought you’d give me _more_ work?”

Ethan’s mouth worked silently for a minute before he concluded, “Okay, maybe the plan could’ve used a little fine-tuning.”

“Bloody _hell_, Ethan.” Benji wanted to strangle him and maybe kiss him, which was a deeply vexing state of affairs. “You could’ve just asked me for dinner and a movie! I’d have said yes.”

A pause. “You would’ve?”

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

Ethan struggled to process that. Then he said, apparently needing to clear his conscience entirely, “I also stole the card with my measurements out of your desk.”

“For god’s sake!” The urges to both strangle and kiss Ethan increased with equal fervor. 

“I needed an opportunity to ask you to this party! An excuse to have you to myself for a little while.”

Benji hung his head. “Again, Ethan, you could’ve just used your words.”

“Do you want me to leave you alone forever?” Ethan asked, looking thoroughly miserable, “Because I can do that. Like, really, disappearing without a trace is one of my talents.”

“Definitely not,” Benji nipped that in the bud, “No, you’d better stay where I can reach you. At least until I’ve decided what do with you.”

“What are the options?” Ethan asked, apprehensive.

“Well, murder’s always a classic.”

Ethan nodded gravely.

“But I tend towards leniency.” Benji watched as Ethan’s eyes brightened, like a recently chastised puppy who overhead the word ‘walk.’ “In fact, if you’re very good and don’t destroy any valuable items of clothing in the next—” Benji checked the time, “—thirty seconds, maybe I’ll even let you kiss me when the clock strikes twelve.”

Ethan rocked back on his heels. “Maybe?”

The cherrywood grandfather clock that stood in the place of honor near the balcony gonged midnight. Cheers erupted, confetti flew, and fireworks exploded in the distant sky.

“Definitely maybe,” Benji amended. He reached out, adjusted Ethan’s collar, then wrapped his tie around his hand and used it to pull Ethan into a kiss.

It only lasted a few seconds, and it should’ve felt chaste. Almost everyone in the office was kissing someone, it was just what you did at the start of the new year. But this didn’t feel like the obligatory fulfillment of tradition, or simple instinct—it felt like the beginning of something bigger than just another orbit around the sun.

Benji released Ethan with a pleased hum, then set about inspecting the mustard tie he still had wrapped around his fingers. “No offense, but this tie was a mistake,” he noted, “Blue is _so_ much more your color. I have a lovely one in sapphire cashmere that would be perfect.”

Ethan blinked, dazed. “You can dress me anytime you like.”

“Is that also an invitation to undress you?”

Ethan blanched and Benji laughed.

“Only if you find that charming and not borderline-sexual-harassment in the workplace,” Ethan concluded.

“I think it’s definitely the former,” Benji decided.

“Alright then, yes. Consider it a standing invitation to do with my wardrobe what you will. All innuendo intended.”

“That’s an awful lot of license you’re giving me.”

“I trust your judgement.”

“Well, you clearly can’t trust your own, so I suppose that’s a good idea.”

Ethan laughed, and Benji soaked up the sound. He couldn’t wait to hear it again, to see Ethan smile without the nerves and doubt and second-guessing.

“In my good judgement, I think I’d better kiss you again,” Benji announced, tossing his hands casually around Ethan’s neck, “We’ve rung in the New Year, but what about ringing in 12:01?”

“It’s been a pretty great minute so far,” Ethan agreed, “it deserves a celebration of its own.”

So, Benji kissed him again and tasted a little more of that potential future.

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t think I’ve ever written Ethan this way, but I wanted to give him a chance to be starstruck with the wonder that is Benji, and it was an interesting way to explore their relationship… hope you enjoyed it! <3


End file.
